


Blame it on the Mistletoe

by vulpixel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Lots of that, and also christmas spirit :), gratuitous catherine im sorry, there is a LOT of dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpixel/pseuds/vulpixel
Summary: shamir gets bullied into doing a secret santa exchange. manuela shows her some christmas spirit :)modern au where they are both high school teachershallmark hire me im a genius
Relationships: Manuela Casagranda/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas yall ;)

Catherine insisted it was a good idea. That was Shamir’s first mistake. She should never listen to her coworker. With the holidays around, everyone gets sucked into various Christmas activities. Secret Santa is one of them. Shamir has managed to avoid the phenomenon for years until Catherine decided to butt in.

"With your luck, you'll probably get me!" She insisted, "What could go wrong?"

"Everything. Everything can go wrong," Shamir said.

"Lighten up."

Now, here she is, sitting in her office with a small piece of paper with the name ‘Manuela Casagranda’ scrawled over it. The music hall could not be farther from the gyms. Hell, the only time Shamir has seen Manuela is at faculty meetings when she doesn’t skip them. Maybe briefly in the parking lot. Shamir isn't even sure what the woman looks like. It's not like staff is required to see the musical or attend any concerts. Shamir wouldn’t be caught dead at a stage production of Pippin.

"No way. You got Manuela?" Catherine intrudes, peeking over her shoulder. She whistles obnoxiously.

Shamir jabs her in the stomach harshly. "Mind your own damn business."

"Well, I got Rhea," her friend boasts, waving her ticket proudly.

"I'll trade you."

"What? No way. Trades aren't allowed."

"Neither is peeking, but I know you did when we drew those names. Give her here."

"Stop it! I picked Rhea fair and square!" Catherine backs away.

"Liar."

"Okay. Maybe I peeked," she admits, "I just didn't wanna get stuck with Hanneman again. I don't get that man. All he talks about is his research projects. What the hell do you even get a guy like that? The answers to the universe? A rock? Oh, that's a good one actually."

"I would rather get Hanneman than Manuela," Shamir says, "I'll just give her cash."

"Oh, c'mon. You can't give her cash! Where's your Christmas spirit?"

"I'm Jewish."

"Still, it's the season of giving, and you have to pick out something for Manuela," Catherine replies, "She isn't that hard to buy gifts for!"

"Then, what do you suggest I give her, genius?" Shamir asks.

"I dunno." Her friend shrugs.

"You are so very helpful. I couldn't have asked for a better partner of a gym teacher."

"I know that's sarcasm, but I'm taking that as a compliment."

"I hate you," she groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her head aches. She hates Christmas.

"Oh, c'mon. I can still help out. I hear she goes to the bar every Friday right after school," Catherine says, "You can scope out the joint and maybe get some info on what she likes."

“That’s too much effort for one stupid gift.”

“Got any better ideas?”

“No,” Shamir sighs, “What bar?”

"Beats me."

"Ugh. You're impossible. I'll just ask her." She stands up, heading for the door.

"Shamir, wait! Don't make it obvious!"

"I don't care."

\----

The trek to the choir room turns out to be good exercise. The long hallways let Shamir stride as fast as she pleases. Even this early in the morning, students wander about. Some sit in the choir room, talking amongst themselves. One sits at the piano playing snippets of every pop song imaginable while another sings over it. They have absolutely no synchronicity. Their voices clash horribly. The sound rings harshly in her ears. Shamir doesn't see the appeal. She never was one for theater.

She finds Manuela in her office surrounded by a crowd of students. They all babble various questions at her. The room feels stuffy with this many people in it. Her office isn't that big to begin with.

"Well, stop trying to sing in alto when you're obviously a tenor. That’s your problem." Manuela tends to them one by one. She shoos them away when she sees Shamir at the door.

"Close the door behind you," she says, "Although I doubt that would stop them. These kids don’t know what privacy is."

"I'll stop them," Shamir assures her.

“My hero.”

“Hardly.”

"So what's a gym teacher doing all the way over here, anyway? I thought jocks were supposed to beat up the theatre kids. Is it finally my time?"

"I'm not here to hurt you. Why does everyone think that?"

"Do you want an honest answer, dear?"

"I already know the answer. You don’t need to elaborate," she says.

"Now that formalities are out of the way, what do you need?" Manuela asks. She sits atop her desk and leans back. Her skirt rides up just enough to catch Shamir’s attention. She quickly averts her eyes.

"I was wondering what bar you go to," she asks plainly.

The woman lets out a hearty laugh. "Oh, that's rich! Why on earth would you want that information? Is this some roundabout way of asking me out?"

"What? No."

"Well, I accept. I'll meet you there at eight."

"Meet you where?"

"The Black Eagle of course," Manuela answers, "At eight. Be there, or else I'll have to drink myself out of my depression yet again."

Shamir has no idea how to respond. She doesn't have a choice at this point. "I'll see you there."

\----

The bar is dark and dreary. The dim lights bathe the room in a yellow tint. Few patrons sit at the bar. Most stare at the lone television in the corner playing some sport. They argue over which channel to watch. Hard rock plays over the speakers, making conversation nearly impossible. Despite the holidays being around the corner, no one has made any attempt to decorate. It's horribly depressing. Shamir loves it.

She spots the woman in question sitting at the opposite end of the bar. They make eye contact, and there goes Shamir's last chance to leave. Not that she was considering it. She may hate everyone, but she still has morals. And Manuela is her secret Santa. She needs to figure out what gift to get her.

She takes a deep breath and walks up to the woman. Manuela is already deep into a Long Island Iced Tea. She smiles when she sees the other woman approach.

"You actually came," she says, sounding genuinely surprised, "I didn't think you would."

"I would never break a contract," Shamir answers.

"Well, sit down. I'll buy you a drink for your troubles." Manuela gestures to the seat next to her.

“Troubles? I’m hardly troubled by your presence.”

“Oh, please. You came here to make me look like a little less of a mess, and I appreciate it. Sit down and have a drink on me.”

“You’re really not as much of a burden as you say you are,” Shamir says.

“You’re just saying that to be nice.”

“Manuela, I am not a nice person. I only say things with purpose.”

“Fine. Be a mean person, but please let me buy you a drink. And stop standing there so awkwardly.” Her words are insistent, so Shamir knows she doesn’t have a choice in the matter.

Shamir stares at the chair blankly. "I don't sit."

"Then, stand next to me. Anywhere but the middle of the floor."

Shamir does so. She pushes the chair aside to lean against the bar. Immediately, the bartender approaches.

"Scotch on the rocks," she says before he can open his mouth.

He blinks at her a moment as she throws him off his routine. He mutters something before recovering and getting to work.

Once everyone is situated with drinks, Manuela starts the conversation. "So, how are things?"

"Things?" Shamir responds.

"I don't know. Life. Work. Anything. This is our second time ever talking. You can tell me anything."

She finds herself hopelessly lost. Conversation isn't exactly her strong suit or something she particularly enjoys.

"I teach gym. I watch kids throw balls at each other all day. There's nothing to really report on."

"You're also the bowling coach, aren't you?" Manuela replies, "That has to be at least a little bit interesting."

"If I had my way, we would replace the bowling team with an archery team, but no other high school has such a thing. So I'm stuck coaching bowling since Catherine got dibs on basketball."

"At least it's not golf," Manuela comments.

Shamir laughs, "You're right. Golf is for rich fools who just want an excuse to drink beer and complain about their wives they can't please in bed. Play a real sport or take some viagra."

"You're telling me! I used to be married to one. He told me to my face he went golfing to get away from me.”

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, don't worry about me. He's dead! He’ll never see me again.”

The way she says that statement suggests to Shamir that Manuela killed a man. She can't tell if she's mildly concerned or impressed over it. Probably both but more of the latter.

"Did you at least get his money?" She wonders.

Manuela lets out a depressed laugh loud enough to grab the attention of the other patrons. "Absolutely not! He went off and married a broad half his age before kicking the bucket a month later. She got everything, and I got nothing. Five years of marriage for nothing!”

"That's terrible."

"Marriage is terrible," she says, leaning down to take a long sip from her drink, "I’d say never get married, but I guess it’s too late for you.”

“What do you mean?” Shamir responds with confusion.

“Aren’t you married?”

"I'm not married," she answers.

"Oh, that makes sense. You'd have the same last name as her if you were married."

The statement only confuses her more. "What are you talking about?"

"Aren't you dating that Catherine girl? She's a bit loud for my tastes, but she seems nice." The irony doesn't seem to occur to Manuela.

"You think I'm dating _Catherine_?" Shamir asks, physically pained at the thought.

"You two are awfully chummy. Always hanging out together.”

"Because we work together. We both teach the girl's gym class. That's it. I can't stand the woman otherwise," she states. She needs more alcohol.

"So does that mean your single?" Manuela wonders.

"I am not currently seeing anyone."

"Interesting." She takes another sip of her drink.

There is a certain inflection of her statement that gets Shamir thinking. Is she-? No. It can’t be. Shamir decides not to follow up on the matter. She downs the rest of her drink before changing topics. "That’s enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

“What is there to say?” Manuela responds.

Preferably nothing, but Shamir has a job to do.

“Lots of things. What are your interests?”

The woman thinks for a moment before answering, “Long walks on the beach. Dancing in the moonlight. Going to the opera. Holding hands. Candlelit dinners.”

“How much do opera tickets cost?” Shamir wonders, taking notes for later.

“They’re cheap if you want a balcony seat. If you actually want to see the production, you’re gonna be paying a pretty penny for those seats.”

Maybe Shamir can get her something else. Her salary can only stretch so far, and she certainly isn’t going to break the bank over a Christmas gift for a coworker she barely knows.

“Why do you care anyway?” Manuela questions her, “You’re a gym teacher. You don’t like these things.”

“It’s true. I don’t enjoy these things, but I do wish to get to know you better,” Shamir says.

“Why?”

“Because I’m here at a bar with you, and I know next to nothing about you.” It’s technically not a lie.

“You know plenty about me,” Manuela insists, “Yet I know nothing about you. Let’s talk about you.”

No. Shamir can’t talk about herself in any context. She must keep the subject on the other woman. “You don’t need to know anything about me.”

“Sure I do. You’re a gym teacher, right? Doesn’t dodgeball get boring?” Manuela idly stirs her drink with her straw before leaning down to take another sip.

“You teach choir. Don't you get tired of all those Christmas songs every December?"

"Oh, absolutely. But, to be fair, Carol of Bells does, as the kids say, 'go hard as hell'." Manuela punctuates that statement with air quotes.

“I think I might kill a man if I have to listen to Jingle Bells one more time.”

"I agree with you there. This is why I drink," the woman sighs, leaning her head in her hand, "You know, I used to be an opera singer."

"Really? I never knew that." To be fair, Shamir doesn't know anything about the woman beside her name and occupation.

"Those were my glory days. Everyone loved me. I was the star of the Mittlefrank Opera Company. And now I'm just a washed up high school choir teacher trying to make Bernadetta sing without bursting into tears."

"I have that same problem with her in my class," Shamir says, "How long ago were your opera days?"

"Almost a decade ago."

"A decade ago?”

“ _Almost_.”

“How old are you?" The woman wonders.

"Old enough to drink." Manuela motions for the bartender to come over. He wordlessly brings her another drink. It seems he’s done this many times before.

"You get something too," she says, nudging the other woman in the shoulder, "Don't make me drink alone."

Again, Shamir feels obligated to oblige her. And she definitely needs more alcohol in her system to survive more conversation. "I'll have the same."

Another round of drinks, and Shamir is feeling pleasantly warm. Hard liquor has that effect on people. Manuela goes from depressed drinking to a manic happiness. She bubbles with laughter as she sips her drink.

"I hooked up with Hanneman once," she says out of nowhere.

"You've got to be kidding me," Shamir replies, taking a long swig of her drink to get the image out of her head.

"It was prom night, and I was getting depressed watching all those young horny teenagers in love while I sat there single and old and irrelevant. No one even spiked the punch. It was a terrible evening," Manuela explains.

"So you hooked up with Hanneman."

"It was either him or Seteth, but Seteth is too religious for me. I didn't think he would bite anyway. Too much of a family man."

"How did that even happen?" Shamir dares ask. She immediately regrets it.

"With a lot of flirting. The man has a thick skull. He wouldn't know I was flirting with him if I took my top off in his face."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

"I am!" Manuela exclaims, "You think if someone shoved their boobs in your face you'd get a clue. But no. I had to flat out tell him I wanted to get frisky with him. Even then, he wasn't really sure what I meant."

"That's disgusting."

"In my defense, his dick is enormous, and he surprisingly knows his way around the bedroom. And don’t get me started on his stamina." She holds her hands up to show exactly what size. It's larger than Shamir is expecting. Her eyes widen at the sight.

"I am not starting you on anything related to this conversation." She turns her head, drowning herself in more alcohol. The bitter taste lingers on her tongue.

"Oh, c'mon. You're secretly into it," Manuela teases. She playfully pokes her in the shoulder.

"I can say with full confidence, I am not."

"Liar."

"I'm a lesbian, Manuela," Shamir bluntly clarifies for her.

"Oh! My bad. So Rhea is more your speed then."

"Rhea isn't my type either."

"Really? She has huge knockers. You're telling me you don't like a nice set of tits?" Manuela asks, obviously worked up over the matter. She waves her hand in the air to accentuate her statement.

"Her breasts are very nice. I will give her that," Shamir says calmly, still confused as to how the conversation even got here, "But her personality leaves a lot to desire."

"So, you won't hit that just because you don't like her personality? She has an ass for days! Even I would if I had the chance.”

"I look for more than just a nice ass in a woman. I need someone I can tolerate first and foremost."

"What about me?" Manuela asks without hesitation.

"You're okay."

"Just okay?” She seems genuinely offended. “Have you seen my rack?"

"I have." Shamir's eyes instinctively wander downward. Her reaction is subtle enough the other woman doesn't notice. Not that she would mind if she was to notice.

"You can't tell me you don't want to hit this." Manuela gestures to her own body, turning to show off her assets. “Seriously. Please don’t tell me if you’re not. It’ll really tank my self confidence.”

"Manuela, I really don't want to discuss whether or not I'm sexually attracted to you. I'm not here to hook up. I'm here as a friend. Or something like that."

"Fine," the woman scoffs and rolls her eyes, "We can talk about normal things and not the perfect shape of Rhea’s ass. You could bounce a quarter off of that, I swear.”

"Are you always like this while drunk?" Shamir wonders aloud.

"Like what?"

"Like... horny."

Manuela puts a hand on the other woman's shoulder and leans in irresistibly close. Her voice gets heavy, almost pained. "Shamir, darling, I haven't gotten laid in years. I'm tired of using a vibrator. Do you know how many triple A's I go through in a month? It's pitiful. Of course I'm going to be a horny drunk. Hell, I’m horny sober.”

"Point taken."

"Also, I swing both ways if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean."

"I play for both teams," she clarifies again. Her hand still lingers on Shamir's shoulder, digging her nails in slightly.

"I understand exactly what you're talking about," Shamir assures her.

"I like men and women."

"You made this very clear, Manuela."

"I don't think I'm being clear enough," Manuela says, voice suddenly vastly different from before. It's low and seductive with a distinct rasp that Shamir finds extremely attractive. And suddenly, she knows exactly what Manuela means.

"Message received," Shamir responds.

“Let’s get out of here.”

\----

Saturday comes around, and Shamir feels rejuvenated. For the first time in years, she sleeps in. Her clock flashes nine as she rises for the day. She feels like a new woman. She knows exactly what she has to do. Before that, she checks her phone. A text from Catherine pops up on the screen.

Catherine: Did u do it?

Immediately, Shamir panics. How did she know? Then, another text pops up.

Catherine: Did u figure out what to get her?

Shamir breathes a sigh of relief. Her secret is safe.

She figured out what to give her, alright, but the only problem is she can't exactly give that away at a public gift exchange. It is then she realizes she still knows next to nothing about the other woman and is still hopelessly lost on what to get her as a physical gift.

Shamir: Yes.

She'll think of something eventually.

\----

The bar is exactly as Shamir left it. The same people sit in the same exact spots going through the same motions as yesterday. Even the music sounds vaguely familiar from the day before. At least today a different game plays on the television. These guys love their basketball.

And of course, Manuela sits in the same spot as yesterday completely absorbed in her drink. She doesn't even notice the woman approaching.

"Is this seat taken?" Shamir asks smoothly.

Manuela looks up alarmed, but her face softens when she sees Shamir. In fact, her entire body visibly relaxes. Not that Shamir is looking.

"It's not taken, and neither am I. Have a seat."

Shamir does so. The same bartender from last night walks over. They make eye contact, and he already knows what to do. Before she knows it, a drink sits before her. It leaves a delightful burn on her tongue.

"You couldn't stay away, could you?" Manuela laughs. If only she knew.

"What can I say? You have a magnetic personality," Shamir answers.

"That's a strange name for my boobs."

"Please, Manuela. I was not referring to your breasts."

"Really? Because you did quite a bit last night."

Shamir turns red at the mention of it. She takes a swig of her drink before continuing the conversation. "That was last night. This is today."

"And what does today bring us?" Manuela raises a questioning eyebrow at her.

Fuck. Shamir is not doing this again. She has a job to do.

"It depends on where you want to go."

"Oh, I know exactly where I want to go," Manuela purrs. It sends shivers down Shamir's spine.

Maybe she can multitask.

\----

"Maybe we should save us the time, and you just come straight here next time," Manuela says.

Next time? The thought never occurred to Shamir. She doesn't want to think about it while Manuela's mouth is on her breasts. Her breath hitches as Manuela bites down on her soft skin. She pulls the woman closer.

"What's your favorite restaurant?" Shamir asks, trying to focus on her main goal.

"Why are you asking me this?" Manuela responds confusedly.

Shamir pushes her back onto the bed. Her hands trail over Manuela's mostly naked body. "I was just wondering."

"During sex?"

"Yeah."

"Probably Morano's- ah fuck, Shamir." Manuela digs her nails into Shamir's back as the woman starts stroking her through her underwear.

"Morano's is good. I’ve been there once," Shamir says, "Do they have gift certificates?"

"I think so? You can probably find out on their website." Manuela grunts as the other woman continues to pleasure her. Skilled fingers tease between her legs. She grinds against the sensation.

"Good idea."

"Why are you pulling your phone out?"

"I just wanted to google it to make sure."

"Really?"

"I want to be sure!"

"If you're gonna be like this, I'm getting on top," Manuela groans.

"I'm almost done."

"And I'm not even close to done! This is ridiculous. Get on the bed."

"Just a second-"

Manuela grabs her with surprisingly strong arms and flips her over. Shamir's back hits the bed. She startles, eyes wide at Manuela's sudden outburst. Manuela looks down at her, a devilish glint in her eye.

"I'm in charge now. The first rule is no phones in class," she says, her voice a low grumble. She grips tight to Shamir's face.

“Yes, ma’am,” Shamir mutters.

“I’ll need a better apology than that.”

“Maybe I’ll get you an apology gift. Are you a big coffee person?”

“I’ll need much more than coffee if you want to appease me,” Manuela says.

“Tea, then?”

"That’s it. I’m putting that mouth to better use.”

Shamir has no problem with that. She drools as she watches Manuela remove her underwear. Manuela straddles her, pushing Shamir's head back into the pillow. Her hands instinctively come up to hold her thighs. Shamir wants nothing more than to be crushed by them. Manuela braces herself on the head of the bed. Slowly, she lowers herself down. Shamir does the rest.

"Keep going, darling. I've had a long week. I need all the help I can get," Manuela encourages her. She grinds her hips in a rhythm against Shamir's face.

Shamir never planned to stop. She works the woman thoroughly until she is cumming on her face.

"Oh, fuck me!" Manuela sings out. She yells out a string of profanity. Her entire body convulses. She crashes onto the bed next to Shamir. Her chest heaves with each exhausted breath.

Shamir still has questions. "Do you like flowers?"

"What has gotten into you today?" The other woman asks exasperatedly.

"It's just a question."

"Fine. I love roses. Particularly when they're being thrown at my feet."

"Interesting." Shamir takes note.

\----

Finally, comes the day of the exchange. Shamir, having no idea how to give gifts, throws her gift in a plain paper bag and calls it a day. Catherine hangs over her shoulder.

"Is that the gift?" She pesters her. "What is it?"

"It's none of your damn business," Shamir says.

"Aw, c'mon! I just wanna make sure you didn't get her a bad gift."

"It's not a bad gift. I can actually function as a normal human being sometimes. Unlike you."

"I function just fine," Catherine argues back.

"Really? You babble like a baby whenever Rhea comes down to observe us," Shamir quips at her.

"I do not!"

At that moment, there is a knock at the door. The office door opens before either of them can answer. Shamir whips around, grabbing the nearest item for a weapon. She ends up with a lethal stapler. Rhea stands in the doorway, tall enough she needs to bend over to fit inside.

"Rhea!" Catherine squeaks, tripping over herself despite standing still. She casually leans on the desk and puffs out her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to tell you I'm coming down to observe your class at the end of the day," Rhea says warmly. It puts Shamir on edge.

"You're going to observe my class?" Catherine asks, already vibrating with excitement.

"I will be. I look forward to it,” Rhea answers calmly. She gives the woman a weak smile.

"Me too!"

Rhea leaves without another word. Shamir finally relaxes. She sets the stapler back on the desk.

"Did you hear that?" Catherine turns to her friend, imaginary tail wagging. "She looks forward to it."

"Wipe that dopey grin off your face," Shamir groans. She rolls her eyes.

"I do not have a dopey grin on my face."

"You look like you just got asked out to prom. Your little crush couldn't be any more obvious."

"I don't have a crush on Rhea! She's my boss!"

"I bet you got her a wedding ring as her gift."

"I did not!" Catherine lowers her voice. "I got her a necklace."

"A necklace!" Shamir laughs, "You're head over heels for that woman."

"Am not."

"Explain the picture of her on your desk."

"I don't-"

Shamir opens her desk drawer to pull out the evidence in question.

"Okay, fine," Catherine admits, "Maybe I have a little bit of a crush on her."

"I'm so surprised," Shamir says completely straight faced, "Also you forgot to give her your gift."

"I did? Shit."

\----

Shamir finds Manuela in her office during lunch. She walks in on the woman mid-bite. Manuela startles at the sudden intrusion. She nearly drops her sandwich, making her smack her elbow into the desk. She howls with pain, reeling back and sending her chair flying backwards. With a crash, her body meets the floor. Luckily, her lunch is still intact. Shamir holds her hand out to help the other woman up.

"I wasn't expecting company," Manuela says out of breath. She grips tight to Shamir's hand as she tugs herself upwards.

"I'm your secret Santa," Shamir answers, holding the gift out for her.

"Are you serious? Is that why you were being so weird when we were having a, uh, friendly chat?"

"Yes. I promise you I am not nearly that talkative ever."

"Well, if you do ever feel like running your mouth again, I would be more than willing to have another chat with you." Manuela drops her voice to a whisper. She brings her hand up to cup Shamir's face. Her eyes burn with desire, and Shamir finds it hard to resist.

Shamir clears her throat and removes the hand from her face. "How about you open my gift? I only have ten more minutes."

"Oh, right. That's why you came."

It doesn't take long to unwrap the gift as it is in a plain grocery bag with absolutely no garnish. Manuela pulls out a small card, a couple roses, and a large pack of triple A batteries.

"Really? You little shit," Manuela exclaims, holding the pack of batteries in her hand.

"I figured you would get some use out of them."

"You're lucky we're at school."

"Open the card."

She does just that. "And you got me a gift card to my favorite restaurant. I can't believe you actually remembered me telling you that after I blew your brains out last night."

"I was trying really hard not to forget," Shamir comments.

"As much as I appreciate the gift, I really don't want to dine alone."

She takes Manuela's hands into her own. "There's one more part of my gift you haven't unwrapped yet."

"Is it you?" Manuela wonders. She winks at her.

Goddess, she wishes it was. Shamir shakes her head. "Not quite. I was hoping to ask you on a date to your favorite restaurant."

"That sounds absolutely lovely. I didn't know you were a secret romantic." Manuela puts her hand on her chest and swoons.

"No one has ever called me romantic before.”

"Well, they obviously don't know what they're missing out on. When do you want to go on our date?" Manuela asks.

"I don't have anything going on the entire break, so it's up to you."

"How about the 26th?"

"The day after Christmas?"

"Yes. I don't want to steal your Christmas from you, but I do want to see you as soon as possible," she says.

"There's no Christmas to steal. I don't celebrate it."

"Oh. Well, you're welcome to come over and not celebrate Christmas with me too."

"You also don't celebrate Christmas?" Shamir asks.

"I don't. At least, not anymore. But if you come over, we can pretend we do. You can meet my daughter. She's home from college over the break. I'll cook a nice dinner and light some candles. We can play Yahtzee," Manuela answers, “It’ll be fun.”

"That sounds lovely, but I didn't realize you have a daughter."

"Oh, did I forget to mention that while I was sitting on your face? It's funny how things will slip my mind as I get older," she answers, "Does that bother you? I completely understand if you want to change your mind about all this."

Frankly, Shamir has no idea how to process all the information being thrown at her. At least Manuela is honest with her. And strangely enough, Shamir finds herself wanting to try.

"It doesn't bother me at all."

"So, will I see you for Christmas?"

"You can count on it."

"I look forward to it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops!

Shamir has no idea what to wear. However, she has no desire to put much thought into it, so she ends up in her usual getup of a leather jacket and jeans. Granted, it is freezing cold outside, but Manuela's house should be warm enough. Besides, that's what pockets are for.

She pulls into the driveway of what looks like a modestly sized house. A fresh coat of snow has fallen since it was last shoveled, and Shamir's boots are wet by the time she makes it to the front doorstep. She rings the doorbell and waits.

An unfamiliar voice shouts "coming!", and there is a loud ruckus from inside. There's a loud crash and more yelling. Then, footsteps. Two sets.

"Let me answer the door!" She hears Manuela call out. More commotion.

Then, the door opens, and Shamir sees a brief glance of brown hair. As quickly as it opened, it shuts and opens again. This time, Manuela stands at the other side wearing the ugliest sweater Shamir has ever seen. The colors clash, and it seems the creator attempted some sort of design. Is that a reindeer?

"What are you wearing?" Shamir asks, forgoing formalities completely. She can't take her eyes off it.

"A sweater. My daughter made it for me. It's her holiday tradition," Manuela explains, "Sorry I don't look as good in a leather jacket as you."

Shamir begs to differ. Instead of arguing, she steps inside. Immediately, she feels a pair of eyes on her. She turns to see a strikingly tall brunette staring her down. She certainly didn’t get her height from her mother. The woman wears a similar sweater but with a different assortment of clashing colors and patterns.

"Hi." The woman steps up, all too eager to meet her mother's new friend. She holds her hand out. "I'm Dorothea. You must be Shamir."

"That's me." Is all Shamir answers. She takes the woman's hand and grabs it firmly.

"You have a nice grip," Dorothea comments.

"Dinner is almost ready," Manuela says, "Thea, darling, could you go set the table? And grab my favorite wine. The fifteen dollar bottle."

"Oh, we’re living it up tonight, I see. I can’t wait." Her daughter disappears into the kitchen, leaving the two alone.

Immediately, Manuela's demeanor changes. "I haven't seen you in a while."

"It's been almost a week," Shamir says.

"And please don't mind my daughter. She's quite the one for theatrics. Very outgoing. She says exactly what's on her mind."

"She seems wonderful."

"She's the light of my life. You better like her." Manuela laughs, but it feels more like a threat than a joke.

"Does she know?"

"She can put two and two together. Don't go thinking she'll be calling you mommy any time soon, but you're welcome to call me that anytime." She tugs Shamir in by the collar of her shirt and presses a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Even in front of your daughter?" Shamir asks.

"If you call me mommy in front of my daughter I will slaughter you with no remorse."

"Point taken."

"Now, let me get my roast out of the oven!" Manuela perks right back up and heads into the kitchen. The smell of savory spices start ro fill the house. Shamir salivates at the promise of good food. It has been quite a while since she has had a proper meal.

The dinner table is small, but Dorothea works well with what she is given. A frilled cloth covers the table, and every seat is set with a placemat. The empty fourth seat hosts the most important guest of all, the roast. Dorothea carves the meal and serves everyone. Manuela, in the meantime, digs into the mashed potatoes. She puts a heaping helping onto her plate, and suddenly, Shamir has learned more about her in ten seconds than she has on two dates. The gravy drizzles down everything.

Next, comes the wine. Shamir does the honors of opening the bottle. It's a cabernet sauvignon, not that it matters to Shamir. As long as it's dark, bitter, and alcoholic. She keenly notices there are three glasses at the table. Without a second thought, she starts filling the third.

"What do you think you're doing?" Manuela asks in a pointed tone.

Shamir freezes only to realize her ire is directed at her daughter. Dorothea smiles innocently. "I thought since we were all here together, I could have some wine too."

"You should ask first, sweetie. You know I'm fine with you drinking. I think it's stupid that the drinking age is twenty one. But I would prefer you ask me first."

"May I have some wine, dear mother?" Dorothea bats her eyelashes at her, trying to act cute.

"Of course, sweetie." All the former anger quickly fades from Manuela's voice, and her sickenly sweet demeanor returns.

Shamir pours Dorothea a glass. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," Dorothea answers.

Shamir does some math in her head. Still, she has only a vague idea of how old Manuela could possibly be.

Dinner goes along well. Everyone is too hungry to make proper conversation until after. Dorothea, of course, has many questions to ask.

"So how did you two meet?" Dorothea wonders, "Manuela hasn't told me anything about you."

"I can say the same about you," Shamir says, smoothly avoiding the topic. She would hate to explain that to Manuela’s daughter.

The woman frowns and looks at her mother. "How could you not tell her about me? I am an absolute delight to be around."

"It never came up," Manuela answers, waving it off, "Most people don't want to date a single mother."

"I would date a single mother." Dorothea grins.

"Dorothea, you are nineteen. Wait until you are at least thirty," her mother scolds her.

"How about twenty nine?"

“Dorothea.” The looks she gets is strong enough to kill. Shamir minds her own business, deciding seconds are in order.

Dorothea clears her throat, promptly changing the subject. "That's enough about me. Let's talk about something more interesting. Like Shamir."

"I am hardly interesting," Shamir says, taking another bite of her roast.

"I beg to differ. People who say they're not interesting tend to be the most interesting people." Dorothea leans her head in her hand. She looks at Shamir with devilish eyes.

"I'm a gym teacher. That's it."

"And?"

"That's it."

"Oh, please," she pesters her further, "At least give me something interesting. What's your favorite color?"

"Black."

"Favorite movie?"

"Die Hard."

"Favorite kind of music?"

"Metal."

"Favorite sex position?"

"Reverse cowgirl."

Dorothea grins. “Interesting.”

Manuela spits out her wine. "Dorothea! You can't just ask that! And Shamir, you can't just tell my daughter how you prefer your sex."

"I wanted to make things interesting!" Her daughter reasons.

Shamir shrugs. "She asked."

"You didn't have to tell her!"

She has never seen Manuela so embarrassed. It's almost humorous.

"Oh, please. She already knows what we're getting up to behind her back."

Dorothea covers her mouth to hide her reaction. Although, it barely helps. Her eyes go wide, and she quietly gasps. She bubbles with laughter.

“You stop enjoying this.” Manuela glares at Dorothea. She sets her glass of wine down and stands up. “I’m going to put away dinner now.”

With that, the conversation comes to an abrupt stop. Shamir goes back to minding her own business. She grabs her plate and brings it into the kitchen. Dorothea does the same.

“Shamir, you are a guest. Go sit back down,” Manuela commands her.

“Let me help,” Shamir insists.

“Absolutely not.” She forcibly grabs the plate from her hands.

“Manuela, you’re being ridiculous. Just let me help. It’s the least I can do.”

“I refuse. Get out of my kitchen.”

So Shamir is banished to the living room until dinner is cleaned up. Dorothea joins her on the couch. She sits down directly next to her with no regards to personal space. Their legs touch. Shamir inches away, but Dorothea just moves closer.

“That was really funny,” she says, “I’ve never seen Manuela get so flustered before. You must be something special.”

“What makes you say that?” Shamir wonders.

“I mean, ever since her divorce, I’ve never actually seen her with anyone. At least in a serious sense. I met one guy once, but I could tell it was going nowhere fast. Plus, he was a dick. I couldn’t stand the guy. And that was two years ago. Two whole years of being single.”

“That’s quite a while.” Shamir can say the same. Although, she would never admit it.

“Exactly! She needs to meet someone good. And you’re that person. I just know it. She’s completely different around you. Like, actually happy.”

“Really?”

“Really. So don’t mess this up,” Dorothea threatens, I like seeing Manuela happy.”

“I will try not to,” Shamir answers.

“Good. So, how long have you two been dating anyway?”

_Dating?_ It never occurred to Shamir that perhaps their relationship has evolved past fuck buddies. And maybe. Just _maybe_ the two have developed feelings for one another. She’s sitting next to Manuela’s daughter on Christmas of all days. Are they dating? Shit. The realization hits Shamir hard.

“Are you okay?” Dorothea asks.

Shamir quickly shakes it off. “I’m fine. I’ve just had quite a bit of wine.”

“Me too. My mom is the coolest.”

“That, she is.”

“And now I have two moms,” Dorothea hums happily.

Shamir nearly has a heart attack. “Please don’t call me your mother. At least, not yet.”

“Oh, please. I barely call Manuela ‘mom’. I’m still going to brag to all my friends about this, though. Do you ride a motorcycle?”

“Why is that information important?”

Dorothea pulls out her phone. “It’ll sound cooler when I tell my friends.”

“Then, yes. I do ride a motorcycle.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

“I’m not joking. I’ll show you pictures if I have to.”

“You’re actually the coolest person I’ve ever met.” Dorothea looks at her with awe. “Will you take me for a ride sometime?”

Shamir doesn’t want to think that far ahead. “Sure.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay. I approve of you.” Dorothea immediately opens her phone back up. Her thumbs move a mile a minute. Shamir can only imagine the trouble she is getting herself into.

“Aw, you two are so cute together!” Manuela walks into the room, obviously having eavesdropped for a while. She leans down to kiss her daughter on the top of her head then pulls both of them into a hug.

“Mom, please,” Dorothea whines.

“Oh, stop it. You love me,” Manuela coos at her.

“I do,” she admits.

“Okay. Enough lovey-dovey. It’s time for Yahtzee.” Manuela stands back up. She holds out a bright red box.

“Do we have to play this every year?” Her daughter groans.

“Yes. It’ll be more fun with a third person. I promise.”

Somehow, Manuela is a wizard at Yahtzee. She knows exactly how to roll the dice and which combinations to roll for. No matter how low the odds, the numbers always roll in her favor. Shamir gets competitive as they play on. Dorothea just rolls on a whim. She doesn’t care if she loses as long as she gets another glass of wine out of it. All the while, the night crawls on. The snow gets harder. It’s the perfect backdrop for the holiday.

Finally, Shamir wins a game, but her victory is cut short as Manuela kisses her on the cheek.

“Good job, sweetie,” she says.

Normally, Shamir wouldn’t be phazed by such a small act, but being in front of Dorothea makes it all the more embarrassing. Dorotea grins widely at her two moms. Shamir can only imagine the thoughts running through her head.

Soon, it comes time to leave. Shamir says her goodbyes only to get pulled into a hug by both Dorothea and Manuela. She hopes the hand on her ass belongs to Manuela.

“I really need to go.” She squeezes out of their embrace.

Shamir opens the door to see a pure sheet of white. The wind howls, sending a flurry of snow inside. She quickly shuts the door.

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere, actually,” Manuela says, “I’ll open another bottle of wine.”

Dorothea can barely contain her excitement. It’s going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> if you are one of the two people who are reading this and happen to not already follow my twitter feel free to check it out!  
> [here](https://twitter.com/_vulpixel)


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